


Glorious

by DickBaggins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 16-and-21, Anonymous Sex, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Glory Hole, Incest, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 03:59:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1536725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DickBaggins/pseuds/DickBaggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some old porn piques Sam's interest in glory holes; predictably, Dean knows where to find some.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glorious

Sam's looking at some of Dean's old porn (he doesn't like to think of it as hand-me-down because that brings up a whole set of images Sam usually tries to ignore, tries and fails because more often than not, the slick magazine pages are creased and thumbed in places of obvious fascination so it's hard for his mind _not_ to wander) when he sees it; the weird plywood wall with a very obvious hole cut in the center, about waist height. There's nine or ten pictures of some big-haired woman on one side and one big-dicked meathead on the other, and then two, it's all very 80s with moustaches and blue eyeliner but Sam spends way too long looking, long enough for Dean to sneak up behind him and laughingly cuff him over the back of the head.

“I know where there's one of those.”

“One of what?” Sam snaps the magazine closed, buries it under the latest Guns & Ammo even though it's just them in the motel for the next week or so.

“It's called a glory hole,” Dean says, thumps down onto the couch beside Sam and fishes the magazine back out, caressing the cover like an old friend.

_He wouldn't do that if he knew_ , Sam thinks and forces his eyes away from his brother's fingers, not as long as his own but unmistakeably thicker, turning the glossy pages with aimless ease, once in a while bringing a finger up to his mouth to swipe it with his tongue. Sam looks away, combination of porn and his brother already too mixed up together and now  _this_ . His voice is nervous-high, asking, “How do you know where it is?”

“Had to pee and there it was. Truck stop, just outside town.”

“And...there's a girl on the other side?”

“There's  _someone_ ,” Dean says, glancing up from his porn to look straight ahead and shrug. “Anyway, you can't be picky if you're going around sticking your dick in random holes, y'know?”

“Uh, I guess,” Sam says, but no, he doesn't know. There's no way to ask that isn't creepy and invasive so he blurts it out while his face goes splotchy red, “So you've done it?”

“Come on, Sammy, you know I don't kiss and tell.”

He  _doesn't_ , much to Sam's frustration; Dean is mum and respectful on the subject of his sexual conquests, although Sam can get him talking when he's been drinking, but it's never enough. Sam just rolls his eyes, hunkers further down the couch and tries to avoid looking at his brother and the porn as much as he can. 

“But I can show you, if you want.”

It hangs for a bit, unanswered. Sam glanced at Dean and Dean purses his lips, shrugs again, flips another page forward in the old magazine. Ten minutes later, they're in the front seat of the truck, speeding to the outskirts of town.

 

It's not dirty but it's not exactly sparkling inside the men's room either. The parking lot's empty and they both get out at once; Sam's having like, a million second thoughts, blotchy-faced and sweaty-palmed but Dean looks happy and sure of himself, saunters inside and heads in the opposite direction from Sam, mocks a salute before he disappears into a stall. So that leaves Sam backed against a sink, blinking owlishly in the dim yellow lighting, eyeing the row of stalls in front of him. They  _look_ empty, but he doesn't know how this works; maybe he goes in first? 

“Fuck,” he mutters, digging his nails into his palms, finally picking the one furthest from the door, furthest away from Dean.

Bad enough he's probably within earshot in the first place, but just knowing Dean's down the hall, attempting to get his dick sucked. Probably succeeding, he seemed so optimistic in the car, like he knew something Sam didn't. Sam clicks the lock shut, draws a deep breath and leans his forehead against the wall; sure enough, right there at waist height, there's a fairly sizeable hole carved into the wall. Just seeing it makes him nervous and hard all at once. He squeezes his eyes shut, gropes himself through his jeans and waits; maybe, best and worst case scenario, no one shows up and Dean decides not to talk about this too. Best and worst.

Not much can phase Sam away from getting hard though, so he's jerking off alone in no time, jeans undone, dick red and hard in his fist and then  _footsteps_ and his dick twitches, his stomach drops out at the same time. It's definitely in the stall beside him, slow heavy bootfalls and the latch clicking and rustling around. Sam holds his breath, eyes fixed to the hole in the wall. A finger, two, slip through, crook at him wordlessly and Sam exhales in a shuddering rush, biting his lip. 

_Well, there are worse ways to get your dick sucked,_ some inner voice that sounds a lot like Dean floats around in his head, and that's all the encouragement he needs. He has to spread his legs a bit, hunch down to slide his dick through the wall, heartbeat thudding in his ears, not loud enough to drown out the moan that comes through from the other side. Fingers wrap around him, draw him all the way through the hole until his hips are pressed against it and his balls are squished through too. If he pull back a little, he can see the hand wrapping and stroking him, slow and loose and he almost chokes because  _those fingers_ , he would know them anywhere, flat and wide and thick and the subject of way too many of his fantasies.

That can't be right; he's transferring, he read about that, and now isn't the time anyway, so Sam squeezes his eyes shut again and concentrates. The hand is  _nice_ , knows what it's...he's doing; Sam resigns himself to a fact that it's definitely a man with those hands, if not...no, transferring again. The  _hand_ , the hand has a big wide thumb, smearing around the precome Sam's slicking out and then there's a hot wet swipe against his head too, no time to adjust before  _everything_ is hot and wet and his dick is bumping against the roof of  _someone's_ mouth while their lips suction up and down and one of those big hands is grabbing his balls and squeezing, tugging him all the way through the hole again. 

Just like the hands, the muffled noises are terribly familiar; Sam's heard them a million times wrestling with his big brother, a million times stuffing his mouth with burgers and, only slightly less than a million times through thin motel walls with and without girls. Even if it  _isn't_ , Sam's sure the stranger won't care if he's whining his brother's name against the painted white plywood, so he does just that. 

The mouth is all pink, Sam can see it when he pulls back a little again, plush pink lips all split slick, dripping shiny precome, even prettier tongue darting out to lick them before he dives down onto Sam's dick again. His tongue is merciless this time, pressing perfectly hard against Sam's leaking head and snaking all around, underneath to trace the big throbbing vein that leads up to the base of his dick and then it's all hot wet depth again, wide tongue and suction and the noises are obscene, the ones Sam can hear through all the blood rushing and the whining and it's like he already knows every note of the low tones in the stall next to him. He's always wondered how it'd feel with that low voice thrumming against him and here it is, shaking him to the bones, driving his hips forward because suddenly all he knows is  _fucking that mouth_ and that mouth assents, holds still for Sam and takes him so good, halfway down his throat before it's too much and Sam's coming, surprised and twitchy, whining out his brother's name again and again against the plywood.

Sam's still dripping when he pulls back out of the hole, nearly jumps out of his fucking skin when the low voice in the next stall says, “Damn, Sammy, that was fast,” and he knows enough to unlock his door when Dean stomps into the hallway, somehow wraps his brain around pinning Dean to the wall and kissing the taste of him off his blow job pink lips.


End file.
